enth century in France. His translation of the Georgics was
supposed to make him the equal of Virgil, and brought him not merely
fame, but solid reward. His principal work was the poem of _Les
Jardins_, which he followed up with others of a not dissimilar kind.
Though he emigrated he did not lose his fame, and to the day of his
death was considered to be the first poet of France, or to share that
honour with Lebrun-_Pindare_. Delille has expiated his popularity by a
full half-century of contempt, and his work is, indeed, valueless as
poetry. But it is interesting as one of the most striking examples of
talent, adjusting itself exactly to the demands made on it. The age of
Delille wished to see everything described in elegant periphrases, and
the periphrases arranged in harmonious verses. Delille did this and
nothing more. Chess is 'le jeu reveur qu'inventa Palamede.' Backgammon
is 'le jeu bruyant ou, le cornet en main, L'adroit joueur calcule un
hasard incertain.' Sugar is 'le miel Americain Que du suc des roseaux
exprima l'Africain.' In short, poetry becomes an elaborate conundrum;
nothing is called by its proper name when a circumlocution is in any way
possible. Given the demand, Delille may justly claim the honour of
supplying it with unequalled adroitness. Roucher, the author of _Les
Mois_, who fell a victim to the guillotine, was a member of this school,
possessing not a little vigour, though he was not free from the defects
of his predecessors. To these may, perhaps, be joined the pastoral and
idyllic poet Leonard.

[Sidenote: Lebrun.]

It has been said that the glory of Delille as the greatest poet of the
last quarter of the century was shared by a writer whom his
contemporaries surnamed (absurdly enough) Pindar. Escouchard Lebrun had
a strange resemblance to J. B. Rousseau, of whom, however, he was by no
means a warm admirer. Like his forerunner, he divided his time between
bombastic lyrics and epigrams of very considerable merit. Lebrun was
not destitute of a certain force, but his time was too much for him. He
was a very long-lived man, and in his old age celebrated by turns the
Republic and Bonaparte. His chief rivals as poets of the Republic were
M. J. Chenier and the hunchback Desorgues, a voluminous and vigorous but
crude and unfinished writer, who died in a madhouse at the age of
forty-five.

Two young poets, who lived about the middle of the century, are usually
mentioned together, from the fact of th